Up From The East
by wge3
Summary: "Be afraid. Destiny is not in the hands of the gods anymore. It is in ours. And we will make her our slave. As she has done us a lifetime ago. Be afraid. We do not do thankless tasks anymore. The stone will not fall ever again. Be afraid."
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

_The world is so much better this way,_ I thought, ignoring the pain sparking on the backs my knees and the unwelcome pressure on my head and fingertips.

A soft breeze blew across my face, this one smelling distinctly of the ocean, pure and salty and thickly sweet. No hint of the city, no waft of gasoline. Just the vast expanse of the sea.

I breathed it in deeply. And then I laughed.

Down below, a crowd was forming, sirens blaring, the general ruckus growing. But there I was, dangling upside down, laughing insanely, my hair loose and my head aching.

I spotted a wispy and lonesome cloud drifting up above a smog filled sky. It was probably looking for the stars, like me.

I'll make friends with it. And maybe we'll look together.

* * *

"I suppose you want me to tell you why I did it."

"Only if you want to."

I sighed. Again.

I have been sighing too much, lately.

Looking around this room arranged precisely to give off comfort and ease, I am nothing but annoyed. The window is too small, the blinds barely open, and the incense is stifling. I just want to leave. To run.

The therapist obviously noticed me staring at the window, the observant gentle-toned bastard, and raised his eyebrows at me.

"You don't have to talk about it now. You don't have to talk about it ever, if you don't want to. But facing this…is the only way to defeat it. It's up to you."

I pick at the hangnail on my thumb and glance nervously up at his scraggly beard.

"I didn't try to kill myself. I promise." I begin.

He gives me a look that clearly (yet kindly) says he doesn't believe me.

* * *

I have a wonderful family. I know I was adopted, that much is fairly obvious. But I don't remember a time when I wasn't a part of this family, so it is a difficult thing to be upset about.

People always ask me, "Don't you ever get curious about your real parents?"

Yes, sometimes I do get a little curious, but there is no mistaking who my real parents are. Everything I am, I learned from those who adopted me; my mother, father, and younger siblings. I was showered with affection, open hearts and minds, and support since before I can recall. All I have known is the awkward, somewhat dysfunctional, infinitely dorky group of Tolkien-reading, Mozart-loving nerds I have the pleasure of calling 'family.'

That's probably why it was such a surprise when the depression set in at the end of high school. Apparently happy, well-loved, intelligent children with a "bright future" (whatever the hell that phrase means) aren't normally the ones crying themselves to sleep and going days without a shower; they aren't the ones running themselves ragged, despite the blisters pushing blood through the mesh of their tennis shoes.

They aren't the ones hanging upside down from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge talking to the night sky's reflection in the bay below.

And daydreaming about it ever since.

* * *

"What did you mean to do, then?" He asked politely.

"I just saw the cables and thought, maybe I could climb them. So I did."

"And you got stuck?"

I rolled my eyes. The police have already been over this situation with me a million times. Everyone seems to think I'm either a vacuous curious cat or cripplingly depressed teenager who attempted to figure out life, but decided it was too difficult. Once they saw the bloodstains on my shoes, heard about my recent eating habits, and discovered my regular aloof social behavior (a shocking lack of actual friends), it was decided I need serious help, and was subsequently pulled out of school for a month.

"No. As I've said before, I didn't get stuck."

I could tell his eternal patience was becoming less and less eternal with each minute. This was the fifth session I have had with him, the third where I actually talked, and the first where I am talking honestly. He seemed ready to accept the ridiculous compliment I gave his beard the first day I spoke, he seemed happy to sit and listen to me rant about American History and speculate that the reason I'm "depressed" is because I am a vessel of all the injury the white-man caused my Native American ancestors, but now that I'm being truthful, he's fed up?

I really don't want explain this all again.

"And the blood on your shoes?"

"I like to run, sometimes I forget to stop. Also, I take my shoes off a lot to run, so, you know, rocks and whatnot."

"And your eating habits?"

"I'm only not eating meat. Why is this such a big deal? There are a million vegetarians in the world."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"And," I said, sufficiently annoyed, "I am an introverted person. I don't want a lot of friends. I don't need a lot of friends. You can calm down about that, too."

That's when he tossed his notebook aside, chucking his pen backwards towards his desk, and slouched dramatically in his seat.

Well this is unexpected.

"You know," he started, shaking his nearly bald head, and chuckling, "I have had the pleasure of spending nearly fifteen hours with you, talking with your family and police officers, and researching all sorts of psychological ailments, and the only thing I am left with is the impression that you are fit as a fiddle."

I blinked.

"Okay…"

"Obviously," he conceded, "You're depressed. You are melancholy as hell, unmotivated, and confused. But you are an intelligent teenager, so all those things are a given."

He shot me an amused smile, "And you aren't suicidal. I know what denial looks like on a billion different personalities. And you aren't in it."

I suddenly realized what he was saying.

"So I can leave?"

He laughed and said, "Hell no. You are mildly depressed and doing some crazy shit for only God-knows-why. Tell me – "

He changed his tone abruptly from teasing to focused.

"When did you start going on your runs barefoot?"

I forced myself to breathe deeply and quelled the urge to leap from the chair to go on a barefoot run now. I opened my mouth to say I didn't know, but what came out was, surprisingly, the truth:

"Probably after I saw the northern lights. In Glacier National Park."

I went back to staring out the window. I wondered briefly what color the sky was right now, cursing the blinds from keeping the answer from me.

* * *

My parents never kept from me that I was adopted. As soon as I was old enough to understand what it meant, they sat me down and said, "This is where you came from. We love you and always will."

And that was that.

I like to think they were so up front about it because that's just the kind of maturity they expected from me or that's just the kind of honesty they valued.

But I look nothing like my pale, freckly siblings. So, as I said before, fairly obvious.

They offered up all the information they knew of my parents. Two good-hearted people living on what they could on the Reservation near the Sierra Nevada, came to the big city to see what fortune San Francisco could give them, and discovering after that fatal accident that 'not much' is the best estimation.

I had just been born, my parents had been on the scene, and the rest is history.

Both my parents were intellectuals, college professors, and so approached my biological familial past with careful research and open-mindedness. I was never unaware of the culture I could've easily been a part of. But I was raised in a suburban middle-class family, and, for the most part, that's what I was. Am.

There were still distinct differences between me and my siblings and parents. For one, I definitely didn't have to use as much sunscreen to prevent burns. (My mom still made me wear a lot anyway because apparently skin cancer can affect us all, even those with an ample supply of melanin.)

Also, and I'm not sure if this is hereditary or not, I'm dyslexic. Which is a truly sucky thing to be in a bookish household such as my own. Fortunately, I have patient parents and a lot of resources to practice. They would read me parts of all the exciting stories like _The Hobbit_ and _Harry Potter_, leave me desperate to find out more, and I eventually got used to struggling through the nonsense.

I hate reading but I can do it well enough to answer all the riddles before Bilbo and Gollum do.

Once, one of my preschool teachers tried to tell my parents I had ADHD also, but my parents called bullshit and put me in dance lessons the next day. After I told them it was boring they signed me up for gymnastics, a soccer team, a swim team, and by the time I had entered high school, I knew how to play every sport in the world (including cricket, the pompous game) and was in the midst of mastering rock climbing.

I was also shockingly proficient at piano, but I never played anything slower than 90 beats per minute.

The point of all this is, I have, at first glance, a complicated history, but, in the end, I have always been cherished and allowed to explore all aspects of my personality. I have always been happy.

But when my Aunt, Uncle, and cousins invited me and my 'let's stay indoors and reread Dante's inferno' family on a camping trip, I came face to face with the truth.

I don't belong in the city.

I always knew I preferred the city parks and grand Californian trees over anywhere else in the world, but a recreational area where the urban sounds of San Francisco drifting across the wind is nothing compared to the infinity of a starry night sky.

I will never be able to forget the shimmering and pulsing Northern Lights, the smell of dirt and sweat on my arms, and the inner warmth I felt despite the cool night.

When we got back to our suburban home, my parents and siblings cheerfully taking their hot showers and wrapping themselves up in their cloud-soft beds, I went on a run.

And couldn't bring myself to stop.

A few months later I found myself looking at the stretch of a cable reaching into a sunset sky and wondering how easy it would be to climb.

* * *

The therapist was quiet for a pregnant minute. Then he sat up straight, looked me directly in the eyes, and said, "Well, my young teenage friend, it's time to go."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "That's it?"

"Well," he said, "I want you to do your barefoot runs on the perimeter of a soccer field or football field, I want you to call me if you ever feel like doing something dangerous, but, other than that, I think you know how to solve your own confusion."

I frowned at that, "No I don't. What do you mean?"

"The confusion every human being gets at some point in their life. The confusion about your purpose and the purpose of life itself."

"I don't know how to solve that."

"Of course you don't. No one does."

"I'm getting confused with this conversation."

He chuckled lightly and leaned back in his chair again, folding his hands behind his head.

"Just do what you want, Eyota. Just do what you love."

As if that advice has ever even been close to helpful.

* * *

"I don't understand why he suddenly changed his mind."

I rolled my eyes. God forbid my Dad _not_ understand something. What a travesty. Truly.

"It just isn't logical." He continued.

"Dad, is psychology even supposed to be logical? It's all about feelings and whatnot."

He frowned at me, his fork half way to his mouth and his carefully captured peas making their escape.

"No, it isn't."

"He said I was 'mildly depressed.'" I reminded him.

"So is he not taking this seriously?" My dad demanded.

"_I'm_ not taking this seriously. Because there is nothing really serious going on. Understand?"

He grumbled under his breath. Probably something about contrary and insane children. I grinned when I saw his rational side stop warring with his worrying side and he just gave up.

"This means," I said sweetly, "I can go on the AP Biology field trip."

To be honest, I was never that much a fan of field trips in school. I was always forced to have a field trip 'buddy' and never got to explore where I wanted to. There was always way too much socializing for me. But this trip, which I have been looking forward to ever since I heard about it, is a weekend trip to go camping at the beach, where we will be testing the contents of the sea water, cataloguing all the different species we see, and other such conservation work at the ocean. We don't even have to work in partners.

When I was pulled out of school, I continued my studies at home just so I could have the chance to go on this trip.

"No." My mom said, not even looking at me. "You are still grounded for that stunt you pulled on the bridge."

"But –"

"No."

I held back a growl and my brothers and sister attempted to keep their obnoxious giggling stifled.

The thing is, if I could go back in time, I would never have climbed up that cable. Not because, looking back, it was super dangerous and, if not intrinsically, was definitely at least a little bit suicidal (in the thrill seeking, sky diving way). But because of how much worry and pain it has caused my parents. It took a while to convince them I wasn't on the verge of something radical, and they only stopped tiptoeing around me because they have known me and my restless ways all my life. I can tell they are still worried sick about my stability and happiness, and that they are (stupidly) blaming themselves for my own dissatisfaction.

The only way I feel I can prove to them that a) the bridge thing was a one time, desperate thing, and b) I'm not an entirely irresponsible adolescent, is if they give me a chance to take care of myself, even if only for a few days.

"Mom, Dad." I said quietly.

They both looked at me, angry and frustrated.

"I _am_ sorry about that. Really."

They glared at me, each other, and then sighed together heavily. Their synchronization is always a good sign and I felt hopeful.

"Fine." My dad grumbled, but underneath his sour mood I could sense he was hopeful for me, too.

Charlie, my youngest brother, piped up, "Does this mean you're going to start eating hamburgers again?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hiya. First time doing the fanfiction thing. New experiences are always jarring. I am open to any constructive criticism. Somewhat closed to the destructive sort.

Disclaimer... I'm not Rick Riordan so Percy and his world aren't mine.

Chapter 2.

The bus ride to the beach where we were camping was far too long. I was sitting next to Andy, the perpetually pretentious A-plus student who seems to think that he and I were cut from the same elitist mold because I continuously get higher grades than him.

We weren't.

"I hope I will get to add some more starfish to my collection." He was saying.

"I'm sure the starfish are hoping for that too." I said moodily. He scoffed.

"Please, as if starfish are capable of feeling hope."

"How would you know if they are or not."

"They're practically plants. Comparable to the Venus fly-trap."

"Except in the most obvious way possible."

"False. I contend that starfish do not have the nervous system capable of feelings."

I scooted closer to the window and decided my comeback was best said in my head venomously:

_I contend you are a jack ass._

Good one, Eyota. You sure told him.

* * *

I was forced to share a tent with two other girls, both of whom were fairly smart but ludicrously nice, which was always annoying. I would rather be with snooty jerks than the nice people. Nice people take pity on me and try to talk to me. It's terrible.

"So what are you most looking forward to, Eyota?" Sally asked me as we were unrolling our sleeping bags and attempting to keep as much sand out of the tent as possible.

"Nothing in particular." I replied, pointedly not inquiring after her feelings.

"Oh me too," she said enthusiastically, "It's all going to be so much fun."

She and Andrea then started up a loud conversation about sea turtles, asking for my input way too often for my taste. Eventually, I sat up and unzipped the tent entrance, tugging my sleeping bag with me as I crawled out.

"I'm going to sleep outside." I explained to the surprised faces of my tent mates.

"Won't you be scared?" Sally asked, mock trembling in fright.

I shook my head and said, "It's the beach, what's gonna happen?" then left before either girl could offer to accompany me.

I walked a good distance away from the campsite, much closer to shore, but careful to avoid being too close to where the tide will come in.

Finally, I allowed myself to relax. The moon was waxing, a little more than half full, and the clouds were blowing silently yet quickly across the navy deep sky. The sand was warm on the surface, yet cool underneath, and the ocean sang to my bones. Further down the beach, a cheerful group was sitting around a campfire and its glow shimmered on the lines of the soft Pacific waves.

I snuggled into my sleeping bag, feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and warmth. The idea of there being danger in a place like this, as Sally seemed to worry, was beyond ridiculous and set me giggling.

The laughter helped me to ignore the flash of a pair of eyes looking at me from on top a grassy dune.

* * *

"Will we see any plankton with bioluminescence?" Zachary asked. The rest of the class laughed at his sincere expression, but I congratulated him silently on being able to get through that entire word without stuttering. He's really come a long way since fourth grade student council elections.

Mr. Espinosa smiled endearingly, saying, "No, Mr. Gunfrey, most likely not." Then he raised his round face to look at the rest of the class.

"But we will see a great multitude of underwater species. Remember, it won't count in your lab report if you don't give the Latin name and at least three identifying characteristics and a picture. Now, be off, scientists. The world is your oyster! So be sure to find one!"

He grinned widely at his joke, biting his lip to keep from laughing. I refrained from sarcastically remarking on his apparent hilarity.

I waited a few moments to observe what directions everyone else was heading before walking off in the opposite one. Most people wanted to play in the waves first, probably attempting to collect some sand dollars, so I made my way to the tide pools down shore.

It was peaceful work, tallying and drawing pictures of all the different shells I saw (mineral deposits are always fascinating), the different forms the algae was taking, and quietly watching the birds and crabs do what they do best. Every once and a while I would glance up to see if any of my classmates were heading towards me, but most had made it to the third sand bar, wave surfing, dune sledding, or walking along the beach with bags full of sea shells.

I was distracted by the purity of a long lasting sea breeze so I didn't notice Zachary approaching with the new kid in class.

"Mind if we join you?" Zach asked, politely.

I shook my head and made a 'have-at-it' gesture to the pools, while mentally going through my list of possible excuses for leaving this peaceful spot and relatively amiable company.

But as soon as the boys sat down, Zach helping the new boy with his crutches, they immediately set to work in their lab books, so I decided it was safe to stay.

And it was safe…until the new boy poked me in the shoulder and said, "Your name is Eyota, right?"

I gave a short nod and hoped he would take my silence as a dismissal of a potential conversation.

"My name is Chester."

I stayed quiet and turned my shoulder away from him to get a closer look at a blooming flower.

"You're adopted, right?"

My brain froze.

It's not a secret I'm adopted. I am friendly with some people (a scarce few, admittedly, but details are unimportant), and most of my teachers have known because of Parent-Teacher night every year, but this kid must have moved here when I was away from school so the only way he could possibly know about my parental situation was if the people regularly gossiped about me. Which they don't.

Zach's eyebrows were high on his head, so even he, who I have known since first grade, doesn't know.

I looked at Chester carefully, watched his face coldly regard me under a frankly ridiculous fishing hat, no hint of embarrassment, shame, or awkwardness at what some would call an "invasive question."

"Yes." I said tersely.

He nodded, as if I was confirming a suspicion he had instead of a fact he had been told.

"How did you know that?" I asked, unable to keep my curiosity under wraps.

He shrugged his shoulders and twirled his pen in his fingers, "Just heard someone talking about it."

"Who?" I demanded.

"Just someone. Don't really remember."

His expression was impassive and nonchalant, but his eyes wouldn't focus on me. He was lying.

This is uncomfortable.

I stood up quickly, startling a wide-eyed Zach who had been watching the conversation like a tennis game that would decide the fate of the earth.

"I'm going to the sand dunes." I announced, scooping up my sandals and turning on my heel to march off.

"I'll come with you." Chester said.

"No thanks. I like working alone." I called over my shoulder, ignoring the burn of hot sand on the soles of my feet.

* * *

By lunch time I had twice the amount of information needed to write a decent lab report, but I went off to the cliffs anyway, intent on studying the various types of sea-birds without the mess of intrusive and weird social interactions. Part of me even hoped I would get pooped on, another thing to keep people (or just one very strange person) away from me.

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. There was a friendly nesting bird that let me get close enough to draw a detailed picture of it, and I admired its graceful feathery head and relaxed eyes.

_Good likeness._

"Thanks."

Wait.

I glanced around me, suddenly tense and bewildered.

"Who said that?" I muttered, scrunching my eyebrows in confusion.

I turned back around and the bird was gone.

Ah, well. At least I got a picture.

* * *

"You don't eat meat, either?"

Chester was dropping his plate down across the table from me, his round brown eyes no longer calculating, but puzzled.

A couple of the kids sitting next to me at the picnic table sniggered.

"Yeah," said Liza, "A vegetarian in San Francisco. So weird."

Chester ignored her (I was reluctantly impressed).

"Yes." I replied after giving the obligatory eye-roll to Liza's infinite sarcasm.

He looked down at his plate, frowning, then shook his head like a dog shaking off water, before sitting down.

I ate my veggie burger slowly, coming up with a plan to avoid being forced into s'mores or campfire songs.

"Do you know anything about the Greek myths?"

It took me a few moments to come back to reality from my plotting, but when I did I was not surprised it was Chester directing yet another unexpected question at me.

I wanted to answer 'no' and be done with it, but I figured if Mr. Espinosa saw me socializing at dinner he wouldn't begrudge me my absence from telling ghost stories later (so many silly activities to subvert).

Also, this kid was different, so whatever. I'll play.

"Yes, a bit. My dad is a professor of philosophy and my mom a professor of anthropology, so I have heard a lot of different stories over the years. In fact, I distinctly remember being told the story of _Oedipus Rex_ as a bedtime story."

His lips quirked a bit at that, knowingly, a much different reaction from the horrified smile I was expecting.

"Who's your favorite Greek god, then?" He asked, leaning forward, his face bright with curiosity.

I shrugged and took another bite of my burger.

"Don't have one. Never thought about it." I replied.

"Think about it now." He insisted.

I frowned at him.

"Fine. Zeus. Because of the lightening."

He looked slightly disappointed so I asked him, "Well, who's yours?"

He watched me carefully as he said, "Poseidon…?"

"Is that a question?"

"No, how about Athena?"

"Why are you asking me? I already told you - "

"Apollo?"

"Wha – "

"Demeter? No, wait, I take that back. Probably Apollo. That makes the most sense. Most likely Apollo."

He was definitely talking to himself now.

"Well," I said. "I have had enough of this nonsense. I'm going to the restroom."

I left him to his strange, calculating muttering.

* * *

Alright, so the campfire-song-thing wasn't a complete disaster. It was actually kind of nice, sitting in the sand letting the acoustic guitar and soft singing mix with the salty sea air, the smoke swirling up to the clear sky.

After a few songs, Mr. Espinosa and the parent volunteers went off to their own campfire, probably to indulge in some beer or some other adult ritual.

The songs grew steadily raunchier and eventually turned from Kum-by-yah to Taylor Swift to hip-hop and some terrible attempts at dub step with the harmonica, so I took my leave, more used to music containing a variety of chord progressions, not just one.

I decided to do a moonlit hike through the dunes. I heard Mr. Espinosa telling one of the parents about it, and wanted to try it, preferably without a chaperone. The night was bright enough, so I left my flashlight off, tucked into my hoodie's pocket. I hummed a familiar tune I couldn't name as I walked along, and eventually took off my sandals, leaving them to dangle my from my wrist.

I was just about start heading back when I heard the yelp of a pubescent boy and the clatter of metal crutches. I rolled my eyes and turned towards the noise, jogging lightly and hoping he wasn't in too much of a pickle.

I found him struggling to sit up a couple dunes over, but the sand was just too powdery and soft to support his clumsy efforts or his sturdy crutches, so I raced over before he fell face down, for what would appear to be the second time.

"Hey there, Chester." I said, trying and failing to not sound bitter or annoyed.

"Hi." He said, shamelessly.

Then he looked up at me (he was rather short), and I saw that his face was pinched with concern and worry.

"What's wrong?" I asked immediately, wondering if Zach was being picked on again or if Chester himself was.

He wiped the sand from his face and I noticed he was still wearing that smelly fishing hat, even now that the sun had set.

"You shouldn't be walking alone after dark." He loud-whispered.

"It's the beach, Chester. There aren't any vicious animals that are going to bite my head off."

His eyes darted around nervously.

"I'm not _worried_ about _animals_." He said under his breath, chewing on his lower lip.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying not to laugh, "Do you believe in ghosts or something? You heard the rumors about Bigfoot, have you?"

He glanced sharply at me, under the rim of his hat. He sniffed the air loudly, once, then started forward clumsily, an air of determination hanging around his shoulders.

"This way." He grunted at me.

Amused, I followed him as he headed back down the trail anxiously.

Suddenly he stopped about a hundred yards from the trail head. He whipped around to face me, a lot quicker than can rightly be expected from someone who relies on crutches.

"I don't understand." He said, accusingly.

"Don't understand what? That Bigfoot isn't real?"

He glared at glanced over his shoulders, then over mine.

"You really are clueless about this, aren't you?" He asked sharply but evidently still frustrated.

"Clueless about what?" I shot back, completely aware that I also answered his question.

He shook his head in disbelief, and moved closer, his tone now inching more towards the 'doom-and-gloom' end of the spectrum, an unwelcome development.

"How have you lived this long?" He demanded.

I blinked, not sure if I should continue being amused or give up and throw my full wind power into being insulted.

"I normally go about it by breathing oxygen, eating the right foods, looking both ways before crossing the street. How have _you_ lived this long?"

He sighed and then started pacing, again moving as if his crutches were just accessories, a complete contradiction of how he had been walking before this unbearably unexpected day.

"Eyota," He began softly, his eyes reminding me of my previous therapist, "What do you remember about your parents?"

I knew which "parents" he was referring to, but his abrupt changes in mood were making me feel out of control. I was done playing along with this nonsense.

"Last I saw them, they were enjoying their morning Joe and telling me not to do anything stupid on this trip."

"I mean your biological parents. What do you remember about them?"

I narrowed my eyes and said coldly, "I don't."

"You don't remember anything? You don't know anything about them?" He pressed.

"No. Yes. And why are you so curious?"

He was looking at me, but I could tell he was lost in thought, calculating again. Plotting, maybe?

"You're dyslexic." He stated.

Okay. I let the whole 'adoption' thing slide because it was at least plausible that he heard someone talking about it; plausible, though not very probable. But I hadn't let my dyslexia slow me down since I first learned to read. No one but my teachers knew and they kept quiet about it because I always performed satisfactorily, if not better. This was simply too much.

Before I could tell him that he was officially creepy, however, he jumped in again.

"You also have ADHD."

Well, sort of. Admittedly I still get a little twitchy in class, but school sports has kept me pretty damn vigilant. I know for a fact no one notices a thing.

I was getting sick of this. I thought I was finally figuring my life out, I thought I was moving past the self-destructive recklessness and melancholy. I thought I was done with being so freaking confused all the time.

"Chester, if you don't tell me what the hell is going on – "

My creative threat was cut short by a rumbling growl.

Chester squeaked and jumped closer to me. I didn't even register the irrationality of him abandoning his crutches, too shocked by what was perched on top of the dune.

Strangely, as I looked up at the powerful lion, baring its teeth and flicking its tail, set to pounce, the only thing I found myself thinking was:

_Damn. That is one beautiful beast._

It wasn't exactly a useful thought.

But, eh, it's the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

"_RUN!_" Chester shouted in my ear just as the lion leaped, claws bared.

Instinct took over. I grabbed Chester's hand, yanked him down and forward, leaving the lion to sink its teeth right into the air where we had just been. I gripped Chester's hand as he snatched up one of his crutches, racing to the trailhead while the lion struggled with the powdery sand.

My mind was whirling at the speed of light, running through every fact I have ever learned about lions, coming up with mostly terrifying facts about their speed, strength, and how high they can jump.

A deafening roar interrupted my thoughts just as I was arriving at the memory that you weren't ever supposed to run from a predatory animal. Oops.

Chester was pinching my hand to get my attention, shouting, "It's the Nemean Lion, Eyota! The Nemean Lion!"

I glanced behind me and the lion was pounding directly at us. My heart stuttered and in a split second decision I changed directions and darted up the closest sand dune, dragging a hysterical Chester along with me.

We tumbled down and I pulled us up the next one, straight to my right. I was counting on the lion's weight, his inability to change directions quickly, and sheer dumb luck to make it to the beach and the water before we were sliced to pieces.

The dune grass was thick at the peaks so I pulled us along the tops, lightly following the sturdy rooted sand, listening desperately to the lion's difficulty with the unstable ground.

I looked over my shoulder again, saw the lion making full use of its powerful leaping ability as it flew three dunes with one jump.

I put on another burst of speed, practically carrying Chester, as we finally tumbled onto the beach.

I shot back to my feet, but Chester was still tangled in his own limbs in the sand.

I dove for him just the lion emerged soaring over my again, landing between us and the water.

I wracked my brain for more ideas and felt a despairing emptiness in my mind.

The lion turned, crouched and pounced.

At the moment that I was expecting to feel the cold grip of death seize my soul, Chester surprised me for the perhaps the hundredth time that day.

He lunged feet first, just as the lion hit the air, with enough force to the head to knock the lion back to the ground, yowling in pain.

Chester cried out as the lion's claws raked his side in its fall and I tripped to his side, intent on lifting him bride-style in my arms, before noticing he was missing his shoes.

And apparently human feet.

My mind already so far gone up shocked-and-surprised alley, I barely paused to acknowledge he had hooves before scooping Chester up to my chest and sprinting towards the waves.

I was definitely cursing up a storm, though. Which absolutely no one can blame me for.

Chester moaned weakly as he was jostled in my mad dash, clutching his surviving crutch with white fists. I pulled him closer as we hit the waves, not stopping to apologize as I bounded over each crest until I could barely feel the sea floor with my toes. Chester hissed at the sting of salt water hitting his bleeding wounds and I couldn't make up my mind if the ocean water was good for open cuts or not.

When I turned around again, wading instead of walking, I was finally able to breathe at the sight of the lion pacing on the shore.

The pinch of the cold water assured me I wasn't dreaming, but my brain wasn't able to connect anything that had just happened in the last ten minutes with what is commonly referred to as "reality" so I just decided not to think about it.

Chester, who I was helping to float weakly in front of me, spoke up again, his voice ragged with agony.

"It's the Nemean Lion." He winced as I held us against the surge of a wave.

"You already said that." I replied on autopilot.

"You don't believe me." He whispered, almost begging.

I shook my head, wishing desperately for the confusion to clear.

"Eyota, look at my legs. Look at them. It's the Nemean Lion."

I refused to look at his legs, knowing exactly what I would find. Instead I pulled his shirt up to examine his injury.

It was bleeding profusely.

I pulled his hat off his head (wet hair lying flat reveals a set of horns, another fact to contemplate later), folded it in half, and pressed it to his side. He moaned.

"Shit," I said, under my breath. His lips were turning blue. He needs to get out of here.

The lion was now patiently waiting at edge of the water.

"Shit. ShitShitShitShitShit."

Chester smiled wryly. Then he opened his eyes and started rambling nonsensically, "It's okay if I die. I'll just come back as a plant. I was thinking prickly-pear cactus would be fun, but recently I caught a whiff of a mountain laurel - "

I attempted not to throw up.

Then his eyes went wide fast and he whipped his head around to stare terrified at the shore.

There were people. A romantic couple. Walking. Towards the lion.

My heart felt was ice and I felt a wash of complete fear and hopelessness slide through my veins.

I wanted to shout, but the lion's gaze was still fixed on us, and if the couple panicked, I couldn't predict what they would do.

Chester started trembling.

_"Do you know anything about the Greek myths?"_

The Nemean Lion. _"Look at my legs."_

_"How did Heracles defeat the lion, Mom?" "He used the lion's own weapons against him."_

Right.

I can do this.

* * *

Retrospectively, it wasn't a rational decision.

(Retrospectively, neither was climbing that tempting Golden Gate cable or dangling madly upside down, above the whole world.)

But for some unexplained and irrational reason, as I pushed Chester silently through the moonlit water, ignoring his choking protests, I felt a vague sense of strength enter me, and I became hyper aware of the limits of my limbs and the alacrity of my reflexes. And, yes, there was some small part of me that was thrilled to be this close to actual lion.

He was a magnet.

I left Chester in the shallows, pulling free from his weak grip, and walked forward, registering him behind me, the walkers a short and oblivious distant off (paused in their stroll to gaze at the stars) and the still-as-stone lion watching me with surprisingly intelligent eyes, glowing in the dark.

We watched each other in the glow of the moonlight.

A new experience in my chest was burning and there was rightness in this that I cannot explain.

I spoke to him:

"I know your weakness. I know the way in which you die."

He continued to watch me with his piercing gaze.

The waves rushed forward around my bare ankles and pulled back at the wet sand underneath my feet. I was soaked to the bone, my long dark hair loose from my braid and dripping. A cool breeze blew. I did not shiver. We gazed in silence at the form of the other.

That's when I heard the giggling of the couple stop short and a breathless scream hit the air.

The lion tensed abruptly. My breath caught in my throat, my body frozen, my mind forgetting the reason I came forward.

Just as abruptly I became aware of a lilting tune coming from behind me. In shock, I twisted around and there Chester sat, his crutch missing and replaced by a complicated piped musical instrument.

The lion began to growl and the tune jumped up a few decibels in volume. The lion roared.

Chester's song played like a force, and the lion snapped and clawed at the air as if a swarm of bees were attacking it. I watched amazed as the lion danced around on its hindquarters, swiping at invisible pests viciously.

In one final miscalculated spin it fell backwards into the water at my feet and, instinctively, I pounced, wrapping my hands around one paw and forcing it down on its own throat.

The lion howled. Hot blood flowed fiercely down my hands and I was thrown off beast and hit the beach hard on my back. I sat up immediately, not waiting to catch my breath, and saw the lion thrashing about in the shallow water before falling still, breathing hard and whimpering.

There were shouts in the distance and the bounce of flashlights. Chester had stopped playing and was talking but I couldn't hear him.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees and Chester shouted to stay back. As I approached, the lion hissed and I hesitated before continuing.

He looked up at me, betrayal leaking out of his eyes like fire. Tears leaked out of my own as it suddenly hit me exactly what I had done.

Slowly, I reached a trembling hand forward, placing it gently on his velvety nose.

"I'm sorry." I whispered with almost no sound.

His eyes closed. I stifled an angry sob, shame ripping through me.

Chester reached my side just as his strong majestic body started dissolving into dark grey ash. I gazed on, horrified.

All that was left was his nearly impenetrable skin.

* * *

Chester was tugging on my shoulder as I gingerly lifted the fur in my shivering hands.

"Come on, Eyota! We have to go! The mist can't guarantee our safety with the humans!"

I didn't know what he was saying but in a flash of clarity I remembered he was gravely injured and shot to my feet, throwing the lion's fur over my shoulder.

He tugged me down shore, wincing and moaning as he attempted to run. Apparently hooves aren't very good for moving on sand.

I pulled his spare arm around my shoulder and supported most of his weight as he quickly guided us away from the panicking Park Rangers and walkers. I realized we were headed toward the cliffs at the far end of the beach and pulled us along at a quicker pace, hearing an echo of safety coming from its craggy edges.

When we made it onto the sharp rocks, my feet protested but I was too amazed at the clicking sound Chester's hooves made against the stone to care.

He pulled us into a crevasse, floored by sand, walls made soft with dried algae.

In the relative quiet and cool air in between the big, dark rock, I saw the crash of a mental breakdown on its way. I shut my eyes against is all and breathed deeply into my palms.

Once my heart rate had reached a relatively normal level, I opened my eyes to Chester rummaging in his pockets while trying not to aggravate his maimed side. His fishing hat was covered in dark blood.

I could barely make out the profile of his body, the moon and stars blocked by our hiding place. But he was obviously in pain, cold, drenched, and still very scared.

I moved closer to him and asked, "Do you need your pants?"

Not what I expected to come out of my mouth after all that had happened, but it's a relief to know that I had my priorities in order.

First on the list: stop the bleeding half-human.

I could think about the rest later.

He stared at me, his face nervous and fearful. He nodded carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

I helped him out of his sopping jeans and then forced him to lean forward, so I could wrap them around his torso. I took off my own hoodie and folded it under his bloody hat. I then knotted the legs of his pants over the damp bundle. He groaned as I tied them as firmly as I could and then he made a strange goat sound, which had me placing me hands over my face again to ward off another breakdown.

"What is going on?" I said weakly through my fingers.

I heard Chester sigh and I looked up at his anxious face. He was fiddling with his strange instrument and looking up at the stars.

Then he sighed again, heavily, before he said, "We are as safe as we can be here. We have to wait for morning to call for help. The mist will keep us out of sight until then, I'm sure."

He turned his gaze to me and I forgot to worry about us getting hypothermia or him bleeding to death. His eyes turned sharp and I detected an air of wisdom and experience one shouldn't be able to find in a boy who can't yet grow a beard. (Not that he's a boy. Ugh. Headache.)

"I might as well get this conversation out of the way." He said, glancing down at his legs before back up to me. "First things first, I suppose,"

I shivered involuntary, even before he finished his sentence.

"I'm not the only half-human here."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Chester is biting his lip and has been for the past half hour.

After he explained to me what any sane person would call 'utter and undeniable fiction' and I breathed into my hands again, I fell silent, trying to rewrite the rules of my existence and trying to pretend that Chester's woolly leg doesn't feel all that warm and uncomfortable pressed against my bare one.

I fingered the lion pelt thoughtfully before finally asking what needed to be asked.

"So how do we get to this camp of yours?"

He sighed, relieved, probably, that I wasn't going to run away screaming.

"We will wait for morning. We'll use the rainbow created by the ocean spray and the sunlight to contact Camp. Chiron will know what to do or send help."

I nodded.

Chester turned towards me, his eyebrows pulled together and concerned, "Are you okay?"

I stared down at the pelt in my lap, at the shine of the hooves at the end of Chester's legs, at the blood stains of both a satyr and a mythical lion, and burst out laughing.

"No." I said, breathlessly. "Not really."

He smiled in amused understanding for a moment before his lips turned downward in a grimace. He placed his own bloodstained hand on his wound and closed his eyes against the pain.

"At least I haven't been maimed by the sharpest things in the universe." I said softly, trying hard not to coo comfortingly like mother hen.

He smiled again.

"I suppose I should thank you." I continued. "For saving my life. Twice."

He nodded and said quietly, "Thank you, too."

After a few more empty moments, he dozed off, his head falling on my shoulder, snoring mercilessly in my ear.

This is my life now.

* * *

I couldn't sleep. I felt strange, as if the earth had finally reached the tipping point and was now in the process of changing directions in its tilt, all without the permission of the laws of physics.

I just couldn't even bring myself to think about the possibility of gods. Gods controlling the universe, gods embodying the ways of the world, the stupid, petty Greek gods from those, let's be honest, rather inappropriate myths.

I didn't want the world to be that way. I just wanted the world to be.

I clenched the fur in my fist, wishing _this lion_ could've just been, like all wild and monstrous things.

I was distracted from my bitterness when I heard a loud rumble. I sat up straight, glancing around the darkness, my eyes peeled for movement. I heard it again.

Then Chester mumbled something about samosas and started chewing on the sleeve of my t-shirt.

His eyes snapped open at my giggle. I raised my eyebrows at the drool pooling on my shirt and he blushed, letting the fabric fall from his teeth.

I noticed he had already swallowed a piece.

"Hungry?" I asked pointedly.

"Yes, but I can manage for a little while longer." He said, for some reason ashamed of having to admit a normal bodily function.

"Just let me know if you get desperate, my sleeves are a small sacrifice." I said in a mock grave tone. "Though I'm not sure how they can compare to a spicy Indian pastry."

He was bright red but accepted my offer gracefully. What a champ.

"So do you have any questions?" He asked.

I did, but I had so many I wasn't sure where to start. Then I remembered our conversation from right before the lion attacked, and I asked, "What did you mean when you said, 'I can't believe you have lived this long?'"

He looked up thoughtfully, an action of his I was now beginning to see as habitual of his personality, and replied, "Well, you have lived in San Francisco all your life. And you're old."

He paused.

I decided to wait for him to continue instead of wasting my energy pestering him to explain himself.

"You see," he started. "Most kids have to come to camp much earlier. They come into their powers at around puberty, sometimes earlier for really powerful demigods, sometimes later for weaker. Once they come into their powers, all magical creatures can sense them, and once monsters can sense them, they attack. That's why it's so important for protectors like me to find demigods before they are in too much danger."

His serious demeanor was understandable, now that I knew he had a job do to, and a particularly dangerous one at that.

He continued.

"San Francisco is really close to the underworld, so it and this entire state are crawling with monsters of all sorts. It's taken all my powers to be able to survive this long, out in the open, alone just for a couple of months. I don't understand how you can live past puberty for so long without encountering a single one of them."

I felt a tiny flame of hope burst to life in my gut as I speculated, "Maybe I'm just one of the weaker demigods. Maybe I won't need to go to Camp Half-Blood after all."

He shook his head immediately, effectively dousing my tiny flame.

"No, you are powerful enough to have been noticed from the moment you turned ten. Your mom or dad is most definitely one of the Big Twelve."

"How can you tell?"

"I can smell it."

I rolled my eyes, "Excellent."

He rolled his eyes back at me, "It's not bad."

I laughed and said, "I wasn't worried about that. As long as I don't smell bad to myself, I really couldn't care less about my stench. I was just thinking how jealous I am that your sense of smell is that strong. Did you know bears can smell how old you are? From a mile away?"

He gave me a look that clearly said, 'You are a strange child.'

"I just wish I knew what it was that was keeping you so safe in one of the most dangerous cities in the world." He said in a contemplative voice.

I looked up at the dense night sky and said, "Maybe I have a guardian angel."

He glared at me, "You aren't taking this seriously."

"Of course I am." I scoffed.

"You don't believe me, about the gods or your biological parents. I can tell you don't."

I sighed and said, "It just doesn't make sense to me."

"So do I not make sense to you?" He asked gesturing to his fur, evidently extremely insulted.

"Definitely not." I said through a grin.

He grumbled and started fiddling with his lute (as he called it) again.

After a couple beats of rest he pointed to the lion pelt and said, "It's yours now."

"Okay." I said indifferently, not wanting to think about it.

"I _mean_, it belongs to you and it won't work for anyone but you."

I frowned in confusion.

"What does that mean, it won't "work"?"

He gave an impatient breath before saying, "You know the story, don't you? Heracles's first labor. He claims the indestructible pelt for himself and uses it at as protection for the rest of his tasks. He's famous for wearing it."

"Are you saying it won't be indestructible for anyone but me?"

"More or less."

"But it was a team effort? And what happens when the lion is born again, like you said?"

"You gave the final blow. And you confronted it first. When the lion is reborn which could take a year up to a century, the pelt, in whatever form it takes will dissolve to ash like its body did."

"…'In whatever form'?"

"It will take the shape of whatever clothing is most needed."

I looked down at the pelt, choking down the shameful sadness threatening to spill over, and thought about how much I need a warm and dry jacket.

It glowed briefly before the pelt on my lap was replaced with a golden-tan zip-up hoodie. I sent a grateful whisper of joy to the spirit of the lion, wherever it may be (whether in the stars, Tartarus, or simply in my memory, I don't really care) and slipped the happy warmth over my trembling arms.

Chester leaned his shaggy head on my shoulder again, muttering, "For indestructible material, it sure is soft."

* * *

I woke to Chester shaking me.

"Come on, Eyota. Rise and shine."

I threw my arm over my eyes and groaned a string of unmentionables in his chipper direction.

"How's the flesh wound?" I asked him into my elbow.

"It would be better with some nectar…"

"It's way too early to remind me how screwed up this world really is." I grumbled, but I sat up anyway to examine his injury myself.

He rolled his eyes (at my fussing or whining, I couldn't tell), and said, "Once we get to camp, I'll be fine."

"Yes a camp where little kids are trained how to kill things with swords sounds like a real pleasant experience."

He shrugged off my hands and concern, saying, "Come on. The sun is rising, we should be able to find a rainbow now."

We crawled out of our makeshift shelter and I helped him stand up in the shallow tide water swiftly flowing over the sand.

The ocean was glowing with the gentle illumination that preceded the sunrise. Chester led us up onto the rocks, out of the dark shadow of the cliffs, and we carefully climbed toward the crashing waves, droplets shooting to the air like freedom-loving jewels.

I glanced back up shore and asked, "No one came looking for us?"

"No, the mist probably convinced the authorities we had been washed out to sea." Chester dismissed.

"You keep talking about 'the mist' and I continue to have no idea what that is."

He grunted as he tried to pull himself by a slippery hold in the rock. I caught him and he said, "It keeps the truth from mortals. They can't see through it. Where we saw the Nemean Lion, they probably saw a small bobcat or an animal more native to North America. The mist warps the truth to fit with what people most want to believe. Those people probably saw our abandoned shoes and my crutch floating in the waves and assumed we had either been dragged off by the bobcat or washed away."

I boosted him up past the moist scum to the top of the boulder and said lightly, "Well that's manipulative. Also, bobcats are way too small to take both of us down."

Really I thought that sort of thing was horrifying, but I had already planned to have a mental collapse _after_ the injured goat-man was not on the verge of death and I was sticking to it.

"Here's a good spot." He said pointing to the ocean spray in front of him. He started digging around in his pockets before pulling out a large gold coin.

"Drachma." He explained.

Then he stepped forward into the spray just as the light struck a particularly powerful ocean blast and he tossed the coin forward into the brief slimmer of a rainbow which had appeared.

"O Isis, accept my offering."

_Isis_, I remembered, _Rainbow goddess, the link between humans and the gods._

"Chiron, Camp Half-Blood." Chester was saying.

The bright water shimmered and then an image started to make itself clear in the air in front of Chester.

A man…a bearded man…a tall bearded man…a…

A centaur. Of course.

Why am I surprised anymore?

The centaur (Chiron, trainer of Jason and other heroes, I knew that) smiled widely at Chester, his shoulders sinking in obvious relief.

"Chester." His gruff voice said warmly. "You're safe."

Chester's serious attitude practically melted off of him and his entire body turned pink (I swear even his fur was a little flushed).

"C-Chiron." He stammered with a shy grin.

Chiron was kindly holding back a laugh, I could tell. Then, as his eyes found their way to my excellent medical care, his face grew pale and his eyes widened with concern.

"Chester, what happened?"

"Nothing un-un-unexpected." Chester began evasively. "Just a monster. We took care of it."

"We?" Chiron questioned.

I stepped forward, schooling the fascination off my features as much as I was able.

Chiron's eyes found me, flicked up and down my body as if looking for injury, and then he turned back to Chester, saying, "She's older than I thought."

I snorted. Maybe I was greying early or something.

"Ye-yes, she is old. But she is definitely a strong half-blood and needs to come to camp immediately."

Chester had adopted his professional tone again, which seemed to spur Chiron into action.

"Of course. And you too, I see." He put a fist under his chin and gazed downward in a thoughtful pose. "Hmmm, I don't suppose public transportation would be feasible or even possible…"

"If I could just get to my cell phone, I could call my parents, they could maybe give us a ride." I offered, glad I was getting an excuse to contact them (not to mention they would both freak at the sight of a satyr).

Chiron looked at me carefully for a moment before asking Chester, "The sun is rising, isn't it?"

"I _can _contact my parents, right?" I asked, a cold dread starting up my spine.

They both pretended not to hear me.

"You want me to call _him_? I c-can't! I only had-d one drachma! A-a-and he's – he's – he's…" Chester was clearly struggling to protest to a superior. I, on the other hand, was struggling to figure out how to ditch these crazies and get to my family.

I mean, it's not completely irrational to assume we would be stopping off at my home first, right?

Chiron, meanwhile, was calmly ignoring both of our minor breakdowns and was explaining, "He owes me a favor. I'll call him for you, tell him he needs to pick someone up."

Chester spluttered, "But he's not even heading in the right direction! East to West, remember!"

Chiron smiled sweetly down at Chester, "My young protector, you must get over this need to have things go to plan. And keep in mind, the earth is round. You will be here in no time."

He then glanced at me, "You will contact your family as soon as you are safe within our borders. Do not try to run from Chester, you will only put them and him in more danger."

I tried to remember if centaurs had mind reading abilities but could only come up with all the disturbing things they had ever done in Greek mythology. It wasn't assisting me in my endeavor to remain in one piece.

"You have both done well," Chiron said, "I will see you soon. Be safe."

He waved a long arm through the misty message and Chester and I were left staring out at the Pacific.

I turned to a frozen Chester and asked, "Who is he calling to pick us up?"

* * *

I carried Chester up the cliffs. No big deal.

I was actually happy to climb, to focus on something I understood. But Chester wasn't exactly light and his pained gasps were more than annoying for multiple reasons.

I picked out a relatively easy path and hiked up and around the sheer face of the dark rocks, with Chester clinging to my back, using all his leftover strength and will to stay there.

My feet were in terrible shape and I found myself leaping from smooth stone face to smooth stone face to avoid permanently crippling myself. Once we reached the top, the healthy undergrowth of the forest was like a bowl of hot fudge sundae for my toes.

"Why did we have to come all the way up here?" I asked breathlessly as I set Chester down on the ground, leaning against the damp bark of a tree.

"We are trying not to inconvenience him." Chester said impatiently.

_You're welcome for carrying your sorry derriere up that helluva steep climb, it was nothing, my pleasure, no need to thank me. Please continue to be cryptic and rude._

Chester obviously couldn't read minds like his horsey friend, so he didn't reply to my internal bitterness.

The whole beach was still mostly dark, the sun not having been able to peek out over the tall foliage or hills, but here, on top of the world (I daresay), everything had a pre-dawn glow dripping off their edges, the forest softened and the ocean shimmering.

"When's he gonna get here?" I asked, wondering how much time I had to explore the wilderness around us. _Now there is a wildflower I have never seen before. _

"Any moment now," Chester said, looking to the East.

"What if he's late?" I asked, not ready to give up hope. "I know enough greek myths to know these people aren't the most reliable."

Chester gave me an extremely disapproving look, one I was already getting used to.

"Well, he _is_." He said with the condescending air of finality one uses to tell a child to clean their room.

I rolled my eyes to the tree-tops, noticing the tips of their leaves were starting to glow gold.

"Well, what time is he supposed to be here?" I asked petulantly.

"Sunrise." Chester stated simply.

"What, like Gandalf at Helm's deep? Besides the sun already rose." I said, raising my eyebrows and pointing down to where we had our rainbow-phone call.

"Not fully. Not yet."

I paused mid-childish-whine and stared at Chester, something suddenly occurring to me.

"And our carpool guy is that precise?" I had a suspicion I was really hoping wasn't about to be confirmed.

"Well," Chester said, anxiously watching the first glow of morning sun hit the forest floor in front of him, "Considering he is in fact the sun-god, I'd say…"

I was thrown back as an explosion of heat struck every chill from my damp clothes and body and the sound of an engine roared its way past my eardrum's protective layers.

"Yes." Chester squeaked.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

Somehow in the past half-second, Chester had closed the five feet distance between us. He was attempting a professional and stoic expression, an impossible feat due to his excessive nerves and his inability to stand up straight without ripping his skin open again.

Before us on the forest floor stood a blinding golden sports car and getting out of it a blindingly handsome man.

He smiled and I felt the tips of my hair catch on fire.

"Well, hey there demi-god! Whatcha doin' on the ground?" the shining man asked.

I clumsily got to my feet, shamelessly staring at the unreal scene in front of my eyes.

"Close your mouth, or else a bug might fly in!" He laughed at his own incredibly lame joke as I snapped my jaw closed.

I spike of pain erupted from my wrist and I looked down to see Chester gripping my arm like a dying man.

Which I suppose he kind of is.

I turned back to the man (not calling him Apollo, no way am I diving off the deep-end this early in the morning).

"I'm guessing you're our ride?" I asked, wondering how important it is to be polite to the divine.

"You got that right, friend!" He said, clapping his hands together and sending a wave of pure heat straight at my face. He opened the passenger car door and gestured inside.

"Let's get rolling. Got a whole world to wake up!"

I dragged a frozen Chester slowly to the car, my instincts telling me that getting into a strangers car is not a good idea.

"Come on!" He said, cheerfully. "I'll even let you pick the tune-age! I don't get picky about music. I did invent it, after all."

He winked as Chester and I squeezed into the passenger seat and I held back a wince as the door closed against the cool fresh air.

In a blink, the man (absolutely _not _Apollo) was turning the key in the ignition saying, "Now what'll it be? You're teenagers, right? Katy Perry? Adele? Kanye?"

What language is he speaking?

I stared at his open face and found I couldn't focus on any part of it.

"We leave the music choice up to you, my lord Apollo, God of the Sun." Chester said, professionally, humbly, reverently, respectfully.

"You're creepy."

It took me a moment to realize that _I_ had said that. And another moment to decide that the look on Chester's face made it worth it.

Apollo just laughed, pointing absentmindedly at the stereo making it burst to life with a generic pop song, and said, "Hah, good one."

The next second we were in the air over the Pacific.

"So you're a bit old to be going to camp for the first time." Apollo said, fixing me with a stare that somehow still managed to be bright under his sunglasses.

"You should look at the road." I replied.

He laughed good-naturedly again, saying, "This job is a billion times easier without the horses, let me tell you. Haven't had an accident in ages."

He grinned and I squinted.

"Know who your mom or dad is?" He asked, his voice anticipatory.

"No." I said.

"Well, let's guess!" He shouted, pressing cruise control and turning more fully towards us.

"What do you say, satyr, who's her parent?" He asked.

Chester was a pretty shade of white, his mouth open to answer, but no sound coming out.

Apollo chuckled and said, "Fine, I'll do it myself." He looked back at me, "Tell me, do you have any special powers? I hear Poseidon's children can control sea water, which I'm _so_ jealous of, bro. How sweet would that be?"

"I'd say it'd be more 'salty' than anything." I said.

"You are so _funny!_" Apollo laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were my kid."

"You're a sexual deviant." I said. I knew the stories. About _all_ the male gods.

He snorted, "Classic."

There was silence for the next ten minutes, in which Chester didn't move an inch, Apollo stared at me as if I were a particularly interesting art exhibit, and my brain caught up with the absurdity of the situation.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Aren't you the god of medicine, or something?"

"Sure am." Apollo said proudly.

"Well he's hurt!" I said, pointing at Chester. "Can you help?"

Apollo shrugged and said, "Probably."

I waited and no one moved.

"Well?" I prompted.

"Look, I can't interfere with small stuff like that. I gave you mortals the tools to heal him and that's as far as I can go."

I glared and thought a lot of viscous things at him. Chester didn't so much as twitch.

"Some god." I muttered.

Chester stiffened as Apollo's smile slid off his face.

"What?" I asked Chester, defensively. "He makes almost the least sense of all. We already know why the sun rises and sets, human beings don't need him anymore."

Chester somehow turned even paler and started to tremble. Apollo just watched me, his expression static.

There was a tense silence.

Apollo broke it by bursting into hysterical laughter.

"Oh, man, little demi-god," he wheezed. "You are one sassy mortal. You remind me of Athena. Or my sister."

He turned back to the wheel and said, "You're probably Athena's daughter. That's what I'm putting my money on."

I glanced at Chester, wanting an explanation for the weirdness of this all, and saw him putting his head out the window to throw up.

* * *

It was a nine hour trip around the entire globe.

Apollo entertained us for most of it with his unending tales of romantic exploit. I told him he hadn't learned anything since Daphne and he sighed for the next hour over her ankle's perfection.

Finally, he pulled himself back from memory lane, and said, "Here we are! Camp Half-Blood! I wonder if I have enough to time to go bother Dionysus…"

Chester, who had somehow fallen asleep two hours ago despite a certain god's prattle, shot up and looked eagerly out the window at the sun setting on Long Island.

Abruptly, Apollo slammed both feet on the breaks, and, after a fleeting moment where I may or may not have blacked out, I opened my eyes to a thick pine forest.

"Well, kids, it's been fun!" Apollo was saying. "Let me know if you ever need a ride again, especially you, most-likely-Daugheter-of-Athena."

"My name's Eyota."

"Eh, whatevs."

"You stole Hermes's lyre."

He laughed and said, "You crack me up."

Then Chester and I were pushed out of the car with a blast of heat and we were left in a scorched clearing, Apollo shouting back to us, "'Be not afraid of greatness' and all that jazz!"

I stared at the disappearing sun-chariot-car and said to a relieved Chester, "What a weirdo."

He shot me his down-the-nose glare (how he does that so well when he's shorter than me, I'll never know), and said huffily, "You were very disrespectful."

I shrugged at him and pulled one of his arms over my shoulder saying, "Lead on Macduff."

He grumbled but pointed up the hill.

As we started hiking, I realized that my body couldn't take much more of this.

When we reached the top, Chester paused at a particularly tall pine tree, bowed his head slightly, and then said, "This is the entrance to camp. No monsters or mortal humans can breach this barrier, which Zeus granted us as protection."

He tugged is forward, saying, "Camp is just down this hill."

As soon as I passed the barrier, the uncomfortable chill of evening disappeared, and buildings popped into existence at the bottom of the hill. There was a big gazebo with lots of noise and light pouring through it, a big farm house and a collection of small bunk houses in the distance.

"They must be having dinner." Chester said and I immediately became aware of how hungry and thirsty I was. "That must be where Chiron is and all the healers."

"And the food." I agreed, picking up the pace.

We passed a volleyball court, a basketball court, what looked like a rock-climbing wall, and walked around the perimeter of a lake, before finally entering into the warm light of the gazebo, good smells emerging from it and floating on the gentle breeze.

Eagerly, we walked up the stairs, me ready to do whatever I could for a just a single glass of water.

Unfortunately, the click of Chester's hooves on the smooth stone floor alerted the entire gazebo's occupants to our presence. Chiron shooting to his feet, shouting, "Chester!" may have also done some alerting.

I should've seen that coming.

* * *

At my first ever piano recital, my mom's phone went off. The loudest and most annoying ringtone (she seemed to think Eine Kleine Nacthmusik's opening theme on repeat was something everyone wanted hear) blasted throughout the concert hall and my not-as-embarrassed-as-she-should've-been mother shouted up to me on stage, just as I was about to perform, "Sorry Sweetie, Good luck!"

Point is, I have had experience being the absolute center of attention in a considerably crowded room.

But never have I been the center of attention with greasy, salty hair a mess around my face, covered in three different types of blood from head to toe, barefoot and bare-legged, supporting most of the weight of a malnourished satyr who was making an extreme fashion statement with a pair of bloody jeans, hat and hoodie, as well as dripping dirt, sand, and the awful stench of Apollo's car freshener.

Nope. Can't say I could have ever been prepared for this.

"What the –" one anonymous camper began, and at once the entire room was filled with the buzzing of gossiping adolescents who also happened to be very much _clean_.

Chester was acting more or less like he did in Apollo's presence, so I proceeded forth to Chiron without his help.

Eyes followed us as we made our way down the picnic tables, piled with so much food I almost cried.

Chiron met us in front of the head table, up front.

"Chester, you look worse in person." He teased, but the concerned frown on his face contradicted his light tone.

He leaned down and placed a large hand on Chester's dirty forehead. Chester hissed and pulled away.

"He's got a fever." Chiron said quietly.

"Shit." I couldn't help saying, only imagining how infected and inflamed his injury must be now to have caused such a bodily reaction.

Chiron straightened and called, "Louise! Quickly!"

A red-haired girl (who looked so much like my sister it hurt) rose from a table at the end of the room and jogged over.

"Chiron." She said as she approached.

"Take Chester to the infirmary. He's been seriously injured."

"What happened?" she asked Chiron, who looked at me for the first time.

"Nemean Lion." I said tersely, watching their reactions of shock and horror.

Louise wasted no time in relieving me of my charge and dragging him off. I made to follow her but a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

I turned to look up at Chiron and, now that I finally stood before him, I was slightly in awe. His horse half was a beautiful creamy white color, tall and sturdy. His man half was fit and regal, his beard trimmed neatly and wavy hair combed. He had deep, kind eyes and I recalled that he was around in the time of Ancient Greece as I took in the soft wrinkles and tanned skin.

"Eyota." He said, but it was more a question than a statement.

"Yup." I said. "Eyota Scott."

His eyes crinkled as he said, "Chester will be fine. Children of Apollo are the best healers in camp. Better than mortal doctors, in fact. I'm guessing you're hungry?"

I nodded eagerly. No shame.

He smiled, "First things first, then. Grab a plate and follow me."

He pointed to the buffet. I cheerfully piled my plate full of spaghetti and followed him to a crowded table in the middle of the room. The smell of oregano helped me ignore the stares that clung to my back as I moved about.

"Everyone," Chiron said to the campers at the table, all of whom were smirking and grinning and winking at me with something in between pure conceit and the cockiness of youth. "This is our newest camper, Eyota Scott. She's unclaimed. Eyota, this is the Hermes cabin."

"She's so old." One boy, about my age, with a roguish ponytail said in what was either admiration or confusion.

"Yes, and she's had a difficult couple of days, Santiago, so try not to be a bother. It's now your official duty to show her the ropes." He turned to me as Santiago stuck his tongue out, saying, "If you have questions, direct them to that polite gentleman." He jutted his thumb in Santiago's direction and I wasn't hungry enough to not appreciate the irony.

"Enjoy your dinner." Chiron started to walk away but I called, "Wait!" attracting even more attention but desperate for some semblance of normality.

"You said," I asked, "I could call my family once I got here."

His expression was one of sympathy and I choked down a scream of frustration as he said, "We will, soon. Just not now."

"But they think I'm dead." I protested, remembering what Chester had said about the mist.

He sighed sadly and replied, "It's best if you remain that way. For now. Enjoy your dinner."

He walked away.

* * *

The Hermes cabin watched me without blinking as I sat and chugged down my entire glass of water in one go. One girl whistled, mock impressed.

I just speared my noodles and started to shovel them into my mouth.

"How long has it been since you ate?" a young girl with a pixie hair-cut, probably just entering middle school, asked eventually.

"Five billion years." I answered through a mouthful of garlic bread.

She nodded seriously and I decided she was cool.

"How come you're so old?" Santiago asked reaching over pixie-cut girl's small shoulder and clandestinely sneaking her bread off her plate.

I shrugged, annoyed over how fixated everyone was with my age.

"Where are you from?" He asked as pixie-cut stabbed his thumb with her fork before he could take a bite of the stolen goods. "Ouch! You little minx." He growled at the girl who grinned at him smugly.

"Watch yourself, brother." She said, shaking her fork in front of his nose.

"_You_ watch yourself, Cassandra." He said, snatching the fork from her fingers.

"I don't need to. You know Dad likes me better." She smiled sweetly.

"He does not." He protested.

"Does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

"Enough." One of the older campers said, chucking her own bread in between them before Santiago could make his rebuttal.

She turned to me and said, "They always argue like cats and dogs. Ignore them."

"Will do." I said.

I went back to my dinner and Cassandra repeated her brother's question, "So where are you from?"

"San Francisco." I replied. The whole table shuddered involuntarily.

"No. Way." Cassandra whispered. "How'd you survive? I bet you're the most badass fighter in like, ever."

I snorted, trying not to think about my failure in fencing lessons and boxing.

"Were you, like, constantly surrounded by monsters?" She continued.

I shrugged again, saying, "If I was, I didn't know it."

They looked at me confused, then Santiago said, "You're probably a child of one the minor gods, then. That means you get to relax and not take all this training seriously. Ah, how nice would that be, to come to summer camp and _not _train?"

The table murmured in agreement and I decided to leave out what Chester had said about my probable heritage, or what Apollo had said.

I really wanted Santiago to be right.

* * *

The shower I took after dinner ranked as the best shower of my entire life.

Santiago led me a small cabin outside the Big Twelve circle where all the claimed campers were bunking.

"Here's the unclaimed cabin. No one else is currently unclaimed, so lucky you. Whole thing to yourself. Meet me over there tomorrow morning at eight and we'll get you started. There should be clothes and other supplies in the closet. Good night."

He raced off after that with a couple other kids. I heard them plotting a prank to play on the Demeter cabin over dinner and was glad he wasn't asking me to be a part of it.

I stepped into the cabin, changed out of my filthy clothes, and tried to sleep.

Then everything that happened in the past few days crashed over me and when the angry tears threatened to spill over, I let them.


End file.
